“Is there a light?” George asked.
Danny leaned round the doorframe, fumbling along the wall. “This is criminal damage isn’t it George? Smashed up my window and broke this door down. Looks like an escaped lunatic to me.”
The light blinked on and Oliver gasped. The table was still there but the glass case was gone as was the body. The only sign of anything amiss was a small pool of brown liquid near the rim of the hole.
“But…” he said. “It was there. I saw it. The coffee-” He turned to face the two of them. “I swear there was a body in there.”
“Want to make it official Danny?” The two men faced each other, ignoring Oliver as he limped over to the table and stared at it in disbelief.
“No, just get rid of him.”
“Right, come on then sir. You’ve had your fun.”
Oliver protested the whole way downstairs but George ignored him until they were outside. “I think it’s a sprain, you’re standing on it now. Do you want my advice sir?”
Oliver stared back at him.
“Switch to decaf.”
George walked away, leaving Oliver to limp to his car. He climbed inside, feeling numb. The village no longer seemed friendly and cosy anymore, it seemed wrong and he was the only person here who seemed to care. He started the engine and drove slowly, glad he owned an automatic as his ankle continued to throb, feeling about twice its usual size.
He reached the edge of the village and glanced in the rear view mirror, glad to be leaving. He vowed to come back as soon as he could with a bloody proper police force too, see how they like that.
He noticed a lorry coming up behind him so he pulled in to one side, not wanting it to tailgate him. Slowing to a crawl, he flicked on his indicator and looked in his mirror again. It was still coming towards him at speed and if it didn’t swerve soon it would-
There was the sound of tearing metal and then nothing. He opened his eyes and saw a flash of grass as the car spun out of control, then nothing again. He blinked away the blinding headache and moaned as he awoke. At first he thought he was in hospital. His shoulder was in agony and when he moved his ribs ground together. Blood trickled down his face and it was only when he moved his hand to wipe it away that he realised he was strapped in place.
He looked around him but it took a second for the reality of the situation to hit him. He was back in the pub, on the steel table and trapped inside the glass case. The end of a drip wobbled in his arm as he fought to free himself. He opened his mouth and screamed but the noise just echoed back at him. A wave of nausea washed over him and his vision faded again.
Downstairs the pub regulars sat at their usual tables, sipping their coffees. George sat on a stool, helmet on the top of the bar beside his mug. “Good coffee Danny.”
“It’s needed changing for a while,” George replied. “You can always tell it’s going off when it gets that gritty texture to it.”
Danny nodded. “You’re a connoisseur George,” he said as his friend wiped the top of the barrel with a damp cloth. “You really know your stuff.”
“Well you know what I say, nothing tastes better than a fresh cup of coffee.”
A Spot of Gardening
Alison was staring out of the window when Larry walked into the kitchen. She had that confused look on her face again. “Is that normal?” she asked as he yawned and flicked on the kettle.
“Is what normal?”
“That.” She pointed out at the garden. “Is that normal?”
Since last night’s argument the last thing he wanted was another discussion about the garden. It was never-ending. He thought when they moved in they’d spend about a week sorting out what stayed and what went and then leave the rest to the lawnmower. But that was three months ago and so far all they seemed to agree on was that the rosebush had to go. Debates had gone on long into the night about whether to have a pond and what depth, where to plant the fruit trees, how best to frame the view of the forest beyond their boundary.
She’d wanted a row of weeping willows near the fence for crying out loud. There was about eight billion trees looking in at their old forester’s cottage but apparently that wasn’t enough. A house and garden in the middle of a forest and she wanted more trees.
“What is it?” he asked, peering out of the window. “Dry stone wall needs moving two feet to the left? The flowers the wrong shade of pink?” All he could see were countless weeds that desperately needed tackling after so long prevaricating.
“That thing. It wasn’t that long yesterday was it?”
He realised she meant the bramble. True it did seem to have spread at a pretty impressive rate in the last few weeks. The mass of tangled thorns had been climbing over their fence when they’d moved in, crawling along the grass towards the house. Larry wasn’t surprised. The previous owners were a retired couple who’d seemed contented to let nature do its thing. When they were being shown round, Charles had impressed on them both that it needed work doing.
“New wiring, new roof and the garden’s a mess but there’s potential here Larry, you could make quite a profit on this one.” Larry always listened to his friend, estate agent or not, he was always honest. “And they’re desperate to sell too. You might be able to drop your offer if you time it right.”
When it came to exchanging contracts they’d dropped their price by a third and waited for a nervous couple of hours before Charles had rung to tell them the couple had accepted. Larry was happy to hear it, he’d fallen in love with the idea of a new life in the country, except Alison came along with it like a squashed fly in the middle of a perfect cake.
She’d helped for the first few days but she seemed to quickly get bored, spending her free time in the garden centre whilst bare wires stuck out of the interior walls. He’d done most of the work on his own and did she thank him? Of course not, just started banging on about the bloody bramble instead of getting out there and cutting it back herself.
The kettle clicked off. “I’ll have a look after breakfast.” He poured himself a tea and pointedly didn’t offer her one.
“Maybe we should get the professionals in. Get it cleared properly.”
Larry sighed. “If you’ve got the money, go for it. But if you remember, I spent the last of mine buying this place. I can’t afford gardeners on top.
“Fine, but promise me you’ll deal with it.” She walked over to where he was sitting and took his hands in hers. Had she forgotten that they hated each other? “I just want to sit out there and relax. Maybe in a bikini?”
He felt himself stirring. “You will,” he said, kissing the back of her hand. “It’ll be done before you even look outside again.”
An hour later he was regretting those words, sweating profusely as he hacked away at the masses of tangled branches. It really was a mess, thickly knotted together with thorns capable of piercing his thick gloves as if they were made of tissue. By the time he stopped he had a huge pile of thick green foliage heaped together beside him, ready for burning.
Alison wasn’t there when he went in to make lunch. She didn’t reappear until late in the afternoon and by then he’d cut the bramble so far back you could actually see the fence that separated garden from forest.
“I’ll get to the roots tomorrow,” he said when he saw her in the doorway looking out at him. “I’m too tired to do much more. Where’ve you been?”
“Got some more lavender for the window boxes.” She kissed him, on the lips, something she hadn’t done for a long time. He came inside half an hour later to find dinner on the table and Alison waiting in the seat opposite.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked, washing his hands in the sink before pouring a glass of water and drinking it in one go.
“Does a wife need an occasion to dote on her husband? Now come on, tuck in before it gets cold.”
He pulled up a chair and sniffed at the feast laid out for him. “I could get used to this.”
She smiled. “I bet you could.”
&n
bsp; That night they made love, something he thought she’d forgotten how to do, drifting off to sleep whilst holding hands afterwards. The next morning he woke up to an angry cry from the kitchen. “I thought you’d cut it all back!”
Yawning loudly, Larry wrapped his dressing gown round him and walked downstairs. Alison was waiting by the window. “Well?” she tapped her foot, arms folded.
“Well what?”
“Look! The bloody bramble. What else?”
He walked over to the window, ready to prove her wrong but he was shocked as her by the sight out there. The jagged ends of the branches seemed to have sprouted an alarming amount of new growth. Thin tendrils of translucent green dipped down to the ground, crisscrossing back and forth as they splayed across the lawn.
“But I did cut it back.” His voice carried no weight, he was barely able to believe what he saw.
“Well you’re going to have to do it properly today.”
She actually joined him outside, the two of them spending the entire day hacking away at every new branch before sawing away at the thick knot of roots that sprouted from the pine needle coated forest floor two feet outside the boundary of their garden. As he cut through the stump, it oozed a clear fluid that leaked into the soil beneath them.
“I want you to drown that thing in weed killer,” Alison said, stretching her back.
“None left. I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”
They microwaved the leftovers from the previous day before climbing into bed, asleep within moments, both utterly exhausted.
Larry was up first in the morning, dressing quietly for work whilst Alison slept. He headed downstairs to make breakfast, every muscle in his arms aching. He didn’t pull the blind up until he’d finished washing up. “What the-” he began before stopping. He frowned at the sight. The stump of the bramble had sprouted more new growth that looked like frizzy hair that ran off in every direction. Tiny leaves had already appeared on the tendrils as the grass was once more hidden from sight. “That’s a hell of a weed.”
He was out before Alison appeared, not wanting to incur her wrath that early again. When he returned with the weed killer she was stood in the kitchen with the blind down.
“How is it?” he asked, setting the plastic bottle down on the table.
“Have a look,” she replied, pulling the blind up. The window was coated in green branches, tiny brown hooks sticking to the glass. The tendrils seemed almost to undulate and grow thicker before his eyes. It was an eerie sight and he was glad when Alison yanked the blind back down, blocking it all from view.
“I’ve been looking on the internet,” she said. “There’s a thing called Japanese knotweed that can grow a foot a day.”
“I know. I’ve heard of it. Ruins house prices. Gets in the foundations. But that’s just a bramble out there.”
“Maybe it’s not. I really think we need some professionals in to at least have a look at it.”
“I’m going to see Charles first. He can’t wash his hands of this. He sold us the house and didn’t mention that…that thing. You pour this on it, see if it helps. I’ll be back soon.”
He set off to Murray and Sons, getting more and more worked up as he drove, convincing himself they’d been swindled. “Where is he?” he said as he pushed the door open, anger clouding his normal calm manner. “Where is the cheating son of a bitch?”
“Lovely to see you too Larry,” Charles said, stepping out from his office. “Come on through. David would you bring Mr Evans a coffee please? Larry, stop pacing, you’ll wear out the carpet.”
He marched into the office and refused the offer of a seat. “You lied to us,” he snapped as Charles closed the door behind them.
“What are you talking about?”
“We bought that house in good faith on your say so. I’ll be lucky if I make a penny on it.”
The door opened and two steaming mugs were placed on the desk. “Ah thank you David. Close the door on your way out would you?” He waited until they were alone to continue. “Take a deep breath and start again. You’ve lost me.”
“There is a…a weed in our garden that won’t stop growing. A weed that you conveniently forgot to mention. Slip your mind did it?”
“Larry, listen to yourself. You’re getting all worked up over a sodding plant. There’s one here in this pot. Am I getting stressed about it? No. And you know why? Because it’s a plant.”
“I want to know what you’re going to do about it. I don’t care about your sodding potplant.”
“Frankly, I’m not going to do anything. I had the place fully surveyed, at my expense I should point out, as a favour to an old friend and nothing showed up on there. If there was anything wrong with the place, I’d have found it.”
“Well there is something wrong. There’s a bloody thing that won’t stop growing in my garden. I want…I want compensation or I’ll sue you.”
Charles leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Go ahead. You’re free to do whatever you like. But I should point out you signed the contracts Larry. Not only that but you got a bloody bargain. You’re welcome by the way.”
“A bargain? It’s not a bargain if I have to spend God knows how much getting that thing dug up from under the foundations or wherever the hell it’s got to by now.”
“Right,” Charles stood up and folded his arms. “I’ve heard enough. I’ve tried to be polite with you but-” Larry opened his mouth to reply. “Shut up. You got a house for far less than market value because of my hard work and my negotiating skills. Use some of the money you saved to solve the problem and spend the rest of it on suing me if you like but be careful if you do.”
A sneer formed on Larry’s lips. “Oh yes. And why might that be?”
“Remember the lovely old couple that lived there? A little birdy tells me the cottage they were moving into fell through, couldn’t afford it after you dropped your offer. She was so upset she ended up in Acer Park, bedbound and on her way out. He’s stuck in a little one bed alone and lonely after sixty years together. How would the court look on it if they heard it was you that ruined dear sweet little Enid and Eric’s lives?”
“You…you’re lying.”
“No Larry, sadly I’m not. Now are you done? Only you better get back to your garden.”
He stood up and held the door open. Larry walked out, stopping only to turn and snap, “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
He sat in the car fuming before a light bulb went off in his mind. He typed ‘Acer Park Hospice’ into his satnav and followed the gentle voice that guided him to a large manor house on the edge of town. He pulled up in a gravel car park and headed inside, wanting definitive proof that he’d been lied to.
“Can I help at all?” the receptionist asked.
“I’m not sure, is there an Enid staying here?”
“There is. Why? Are you a relative?”
“Yes,” he lied. “Could I see her?”
“I’m afraid visiting hours aren’t until five-”
“Oh please. I’ve come a long way and I’m…leaving the country and I just wanted to say bye before I go.”
She stood up and smiled. “Well as long as you’re quick. Come on, I’ll show you to her room.”
He followed her down a long hallway, the air filled with the strong smell of bleach. They passed several closed doors before he was shown into a tiny bedroom.
“Enid? Someone here to see you.” She turned to Larry. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Larry walked over to the bed and scrutinised the occupant. She was a tiny white haired slip of a thing, her skin pale and drawn. As she turned to look at Larry he was surprised by how sunken her eyes appeared.
“Hello dear,” she croaked, coughing harshly. “Do I know you?” She tried to sit up.
“Here, let me help,” he replied, shifting the pillows under her shoulders before slowly getting her into a sitting position. “They’re lovely flowers,” he said, nodding towards the window box.
“Eric
was always the one for the garden,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “Always feeding the plants some concoction or other. He used to bring a fresh bunch in for the table every day, even in the winter. Roses in December, daffodils in October, he was a marvel with the garden was my Eric. I wonder where he’s got to today.”
“He’s at home Enid.” Larry turned to see who answered. There was a nurse standing in the doorway. “Do you remember?” She turned to Larry. “Her mind’s going I’m afraid. I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Cynthia.”
“Larry,” he replied, shaking her hand.
“Are you two related?”
“Sort of.” He turned back to the bed. “Enid, do you remember the bramble in your garden?”
“Oh that was his favourite. He had a special bottle just for that one, used to feed it every morning without fail. Had wonderful berries on it all year round, they made the best crumble. I might make him one today if he’s lucky.”
She tried to climb out of bed Cynthia stopped her. “You just rest there dear. Eric’ll be along later to see you.”
Larry stumbled backwards, feeling sure he was about to burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” he muttered as he turned to leave. “I made a mistake.”
He knew something was wrong as soon as he got home and stepped out of his car, there was an atmosphere around the house. He pushed open the front door and stopped dead at the sight before him. A huge twisting green branch filled the hallway, thick as a tree trunk and rippling as it inched towards the door as if it had heard him come in. Lengths of bramble shot out from the trunk, digging into the plaster and burrowing down through the carpet. Wicked black thorns the size of dinner plates jutted out along the length of it.
Something was dangling from one of the thorns and Larry’s mouth fell open when he realised it was a lock of Alison’s hair. “Alison!” he shouted, forcing his way through the tendrils that curled towards him as he passed. He tore at the oversized leaves blocking his view as he called her name again and again. He couldn’t make it into the kitchen, the thickness of foliage had taken over all the available space.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 4